Oh My Cron: Banned from the Palace (Draft 7)

Princess Beast
[Oh My Cron (7)]
    by Alice

In fat assignments
I explain death or not.

Oh hell, because
this muddy muddled mind puddle
is like a dark pudding, I cry out in

my lugubrious night where I
fatten up with empty words, but

I have my vocabulary list to learn
and my last will to write.

A girl in her ugliness
can be a beast, and

I have been condemned
to a plague of loneliness
by an evil milieu

It is an elite rule:
the beautiful witches and warlocks
possess the favors and powers

But from their palaces
in holly woods and
from party districts
come many sycophants
to mandate loneliness
in loco parentis

I am a beast girl
in a shanty castle
without magic powers

I write this letter for Stacey
because I smashed my keyboard:

Why a death chord? Because…

there had been mocking awes
in every voiced pshaw
smirking behind a mask;
I could hear their snide smile
rubbing against the cloth

It’s not just that I’m fat and ugly.
Oh My Cron, I’m beastly

OMC Stacey, I got banned
for the humanized mice comment…
Mu, Nu, Xi
OMC! Burn my Prom Dress
Zoom zone me out.

Yeah, I’m a dissident variant, but
it’s not only just, OMG, ha, my
muumuu dress dance with ukulele
got banned from Me-meTube; it’s
not just an Aloha

Got banned from Spacey Bookie too
and from the Ticks
of skewed life. Failed school.

School is a place of hurt
anyway. Shouldn’t be
anymore children born
like me, fat Alice abysmal.
I am a beast without magic.

Burn my Prom Dress ’cause
I have never danced, though

even I was at THE party, but
they hated me, and I
eyed a pill on the floor,
and saw it on the news
so I knew its deadly ruse
when I saved it.

Give out my other letters.
Tell my Mom it was an accident.
Burn my Prom Dress, but my death
wasn’t an accident, it was Science
and Chemistry by the evil, though
they did me a favor.

Remember two years ago?
Yeah, actually, I liked
math and pi and pie, ’cause
my math and science teachers’ chats
were so cool and hot like STEM trends,
hot trends for girls in space, yeah, and
bio lab rats and stuff like that.

Everyone had always known
I was fat and ugly, but
they lie like science lies. It’s a
lie world. It’s
about dead lab rats and mice
and re-education camps
and slave labor and death.
It is a world of tyrants,
of dark pudding witches
and princely warlocks

Didn’t think I’d fail science, just because
the teachers were afraid to teach or something
and they were under an evil spell.

I would have learned it as my own blend
if I were brilliant and didn’t need a teacher
didn’t need a boyfriend, didn’t need a friend.
I would need a magic wand and a frog Prince

I failed science alone because
I had been fat and ugly and too stupid
to have figured out the truth on my own. Yeah, and
Brandon got myocarditis from a booster.

I’m sorry I told you Brandon
was a good guy. He was shy,
nice to me, didn’t know you’d bleed
when he joined the rapeseed club. Didn’t
know it wasn’t about Botany, and I think
Science is evil now without good seeds.

All those humanized mice and puppies, and
I think I was ‘barking up the wrong tree’.
The RNA has jumped from tree to tree,
and the dogs are lost.

So Science is a political sport not for girls
(or me anyway), renamed fats and oil
in unctuous lies and taunts, and so

Even after another lab leak,
they’re hiding the therapeutics…

My favorite cousins were teased on Spacey Bookie:
labeled obese beasts
and they died without the virus pill.
No therapeutic cry and I miss them.

I could have done a crash diet, but
I swallowed the pill from the floor.

I’m sorry. Give out the other letters.

I’m sorry to leave you behind
to suffer through the Armageddon.
I hope you got the abortion.

All I want is chocolate pudding,
and a masterpiece.

Oh My Cron and Bamboozle: I Got Banned (Draft 6)

Oh My Cron (6)
    by Alice

A written letter for Stacey
because I smashed my keyboard:

Why a death chord? Because…

there had been mocking awes
in every voiced pshaw
smirking behind a mask;
I could hear their snide smile
rubbing against the cloth

It’s not just that I’m fat and ugly.
Oh My Cron.

OMC Stacey, I got banned
for the humanized mice comment…
Mu, Nu, Xi
OMC! Burn my Prom Dress
Zoom zone me out.

Yeah, I’m a dissident variant, but
it’s not only just, OMG, ha, my
muumuu dress dance with ukulele
got banned from Me-meTube; it’s
not just an Aloha

Got banned from Spacey Bookie too
and from the Ticks
of skewed life. Failed school.

School is a place of hurt
anyway. Shouldn’t be
anymore children born
like me, fat Alice abysmal

Burn my Prom Dress ’cause
I have never danced, though

even I was at THE party, but
they hated me, and I
eyed a pill on the floor,
and saw it on the news
so I knew its deadly ruse
when I saved it.

Give out my other letters.
Tell my Mom it was an accident.
Burn my Prom Dress, but my death
wasn’t an accident, it was Science
and Chemistry by the evil, though
they did me a favor.

Remember two years ago?
Yeah, actually, I liked
math and pi and pie, ’cause
my math and science teachers’ chats
were so cool and hot like STEM trends,
hot trends for girls in space, yeah, and
bio lab rats and stuff like that.

Everyone had always known
I was fat and ugly, but
they lie like science lies. It’s a
lie world. It’s
about dead lab rats and mice
and re-education camps
and slave labor and death

Didn’t think I’d fail science, just because
the teachers were afraid to teach or something

I would have learned it as my own blend
if I were brilliant and didn’t need a teacher
didn’t need a boyfriend, didn’t need a friend

I failed science alone because
I had been fat and ugly and too stupid
to have figured out the truth on my own. Yeah, and
Brandon got myocarditis from a booster.

I’m sorry I told you Brandon
was a good guy. He was shy,
nice to me, didn’t know you’d bleed
when he joined the rapeseed club. Didn’t
know it wasn’t about Botany, and I think
Science is evil now without good seeds.

All those humanized mice and puppies, and
I think I was ‘barking up the wrong tree’.

So Science is a political sport not for girls
(or me anyway), renamed fats and oil
in unctuous lies and taunts, and so

Even after another lab leak,
they’re hiding the therapeutics…

My favorite cousins were teased on Spacey Bookie:
labeled obese beasts
and they died without the virus pill.
No therapeutic cry and I miss them.

I could have done a crash diet, but
I swallowed the pill from the floor.

I’m sorry. Give out the other letters.

I’m sorry to leave you behind
to suffer through the Armageddon.
I hope you got the abortion.

A Randy Wine Garden of Science [The Souls of Children Died in the Wine Garden (Draft 5)]

It was the year of plagues,
the year of science.
Fairy tales for children.

Dense withered science,
weathered propaganda
in spirit false, twisted.

Some weathered the year,
some did not: a tear in a
pedagogy climate of fear.

An affront to data, dithers
in logic: twisted science.

Remote Learning,
a few kid suicides, rare

like rain in the desert, but
a science dessert for the
insipid statistical sips
of statistical fruit

Death is usually not literal
in a year of pedagogic abuse, but
withering glance blows slapped the day
with many seizures in a plague year.

It was a year when
the snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents

It was a year of ominous noise,
a year of doom dust and ash,
a smell of sulfur when crows
pecked at eggs and left them

Natural became supernatural.
Evil forces prevailed.

Coming from the ground, far under,
were odd humming and rumbling sounds

those evil sounds were underground like
a swarm of crashing freight trains deep below
like gigantic humming birds as big
flapping their wings like manic dinosaurs
and like angry moose fighting with the Devil

It was a year of strangeness
and a year of hope.

But there were two omens. One was

the cicadas came twice in one year —
once in Spring and once in Fall

the other was that
the rare biting incidents in pre-school
became numerous in the upper grades.

Well actually, more than two omens.
And the mayor was perturbed by
the rumors of
real werewolves, zombies
and Devil worshipers
after the theater re-opened.

Maybe those were not omens
but hysteria or tension.

The snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents, and
especially me. Disturbed,
board meetings were
pointless and strange.

When
I caught Mary’s teacher
berating my child
in a zoom style thing,
I began my research
on a curse. Nothing
was off the table

My child was an odd goldenrod
and the teachers hated her flowering
even after her death.

When the UFOs came again
and abducted a crazy teacher
we, parents, were not offended.

Picking off the teachers
of the Wine Garden club
was a deserved drubbing
‘cause the aliens had a
purpose for them: needed
them for a scientific study.

The parents were glad, and
there were more important things
than the hopelessly pedantic.

It was a strange year
seared in weird, but cold.

School resumed in the fall
five days-a-week
full time, but appalling
and it was too late
for golden Mary

Mary had had a little lamb.

It was a strange year
seared in weird; disturbing
without a noble shepherd

In the fall
I visited Mary
in the cemetery, but
her grave was disturbed

When Mrs. Marxwagon,
Mary’s dreaded teacher, said
she would sue me in court
for placing a curse on her face
(not a known legal charge),
I laughed as if the Devil courted her.

I told her
if the lamb bothers you,
eat it.

The Center for Propaganda Control (CPC)
said the outbreak looked like rabies.

I don’t know why
I wished Mary would be alive —
I thought it was a harmless thought
and the visions were delusional from grief.

The nightmare was so real, and
and I woke up hearing myself scream —
I saw Mary walking to school, and
she said, Mommy, I failed the test.

I ignored the humming sound
and I got into my car, but
the lightning was so angry, and
the rain was intense, the cicadas
rose from the ground and the birds
ate as many as they could, and there
was the stench of death and decay
in the eerie fear invading my soul;
in panic I drove to school to see
if Mary was there and desperately
I loved her still, and thought perhaps
like a miracle she was alive, and
passing her tests like
a good little girl
so precious and pure

The authorities were busy
in the front of the school
surrounding the UFOs

I climbed a tree and
jumped onto
the roof of the school.
The cicadas were
crawling all over, and
the birds were swarming.

I came down the stairs.
I saw Mary.

She and the other
dead children
were eating their teachers.

It was a good day.
The authorities
stormed the building.

The aliens vaporized them all.
I suppose they’re friendly, because
they follow the pedantic science.

Fauci Tonk Blues

[A blues/rock parody can be tricky if there’s a trochee chorus(accented, unaccented), & you have a technical term of letters.“Honky Tonk Women,” has “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”But I think a blues triplet can be substituted: A triplet has three notes to one beat.Here the triplet is “CGG” (chemical names.) I met her in a gene-stoked lab in ‘olina, she…]

Met her in a gene-stoked lab in ‘olina
and showed me her furin cleavage with a sigh,
she had to spike a glycoprotein on my shoulders
’cause I just can’t seem to drink my science dry

Oh Gain-of-function women
CGG-CGG, so gimmie, the Fauci Tonk blues

She laid a CoV-2 fingerprint in Wuhan, but
I didn’t put up much of a fight,
the lady then covered me in praises
she masked my nose and then she brewed my mind

Oh gain-of-function women
CGG-CGG, so gimmie, the Fauci Tonk blues
Oh gain-of-function women
give me, gimmie, the furin cleavage blues

Gain-of-function women et. al.
give me, give me, Pandora’s brothers too

Honky Tonk Women” by The Rolling Stones
Producer: Jimmy Miller
Composers: Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

The Science Suggests a Wuhan Lab Leak
The Covid-19 pathogen has a genetic footprint that has never been observed in a natural coronavirus.
By Steven Quay and Richard Muller


Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato and the Dangers of Acronyms & Initialisms

    I haven’t actually liked to talk like I’ve seen on TV shows where they say, “give me a BLT on rye.” I’ve always referred to it as a “bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.” It only takes 2 seconds to say it so I could never see the point of saying, “gimmie a BLT.” I suppose it’s supposed to be cute and stylish so as to show affection for the sandwich. But I’d rather just eat it and say “mmmm.” I think my parents would have thought it impolite to say, “Gimmie a BLT.”
    Now it’s even worse because BLT is a type of humanized mouse used in research. They infuse several types of human immune cells into mice so those human cells can be harbored there and attacked by various test viruses. It’s a way of having human cells available for experiments without testing it on humans. It stands for (Bone (marrow)-Liver-Thymus human immune stem cells. Then they transplant human lung tissue onto the mouse to produce the ultimate test mouse: the BLT-L humanized mouse. And geez I’ve seen a lot of advertising on the internet for companies who sell BLT-L humanized mice. I would have bought one if they could talk, or if they tasted like bacon.
    Anyway, I saw that and thought to start a poem, but I think I should stop because it’s not a secret anymore. Oh well, I just thought something could be made of it. Here’s the start, and I’ll probably not bother finishing it (although, along the way I found an Italian recipe for cooking a lung to eat[when the lung is fully cooked, it whistles as the passageways collapse which they call “Sibilo Caratatteristico” in Italian):
The Secret Messages from Faustti (Draft 1)

Dear Colleague,
Congratulations on
your performance in
Die Fledermaus

Remember, for prestige, if
you have mice in the kitchen,
bacon, lettuce, and tomato with lung
is best for gaining weight, and
cook-it-up with fur in and cleavage out.

Good news at the world market:
I’ve seen humanized mice
on sale at a good price

But before working
it’s recommended that you
have a hearty breakfast of
Coratella di Abbacchio Con Carciofi

You must try the latest
Bone marrow–liver–thymic
with lung, but since it’s
tedious work it helps
to play music in the background like
“Ode to Sibilo Caratatteristico*.
And remember the song
from The King, the Bat Lady, And I :
“…whenever I feel aghast,
I whistle a cheerful tune…”
Music is infectious, but
the dance of knowledge
must go on. Good luck
and ‘break a leg’.

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez in the Hague (Draft 4)

Things escape notice
with a nod.

Originating from non-existence,
the Scientist is King, soul immaterial
because viable Science is God.

For an elegant experiment
the Death Penalty
is worth the risk.

Things escape
whisked away

Anthony Faustti is known as a hero
for his crowing expositions
on gain-of-function obfuscation

Things escape notice, a tale of
the devil in the details; failure
depends on whose details are scored.

The Death Penalty is a neighbor’s ox
worth the risk if it is gored.

Faustti not quite Richard the 3rd.
in a Shakespearean box, but

The pleas are constructed.
Oh “Context, context,” in Tony III:
“My Kingdom for a bat out of hell…”

Three million dead by gain-of-function
is a modest amount, good for overpopulation.

Plagues are normal episodes, mostly
a beneficial culling of non-scientists,
often happens in a people’s paradise
for the benefit of the Swiftian gullible
who know the poor, frail and old
will pay the price, cold-shouldered
in their malaise, hastened to oblivion

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez
say the Juvenalian are Juvenile.
Perhaps.

But measured by The Black Plague
this population reduction does not
fit a vague standard drawn by lot

Do not let be
such outrages of incompetence.
Death is needed.

In such circumstance
one would not oppose
a convening of an
ad hoc Criminal Tribunal
for “The Mechanism”
at the United Nations
(a simple firing not
being sufficient), and

needling, since
a hypodermic firing squad
is already appointed and
waiting in the wings of a bat,

let Swiftian justice call for
swift execution.
———–
*King Richard the Third, by William Shakespeare; “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
act 5, scene 4

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez in the Hague (Draft 2)

Things escape notice.

Born from a place of non-existence,
the Scientist is King.
Science is God.

For an elegant experiment
the Death Penalty
is worth the risk.

Things escape.

Anthony Faustti is known as a hero
for his masterful expositions
on gain-of-function obfuscation

Things escape notice.
The devil’s in the details.
It depends on whose details.

The Death Penalty is a neighbor’s ox
worth the risk to gore.

Faustti not quite Richard the 3rd.

The pleas.
Oh “Context, context,” in Tony III:
“My Kingdom for a bat out of hell…”

Three million dead by gain-of-function
is a modest amount, helps with overpopulation.

Plagues are normal
a beneficial culling of mostly non-scientists,
often happens in a people’s paradise
for the benefit of the Swiftian gullible
who know the poor, frail and old who are
tired in their malaise, and expendable

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez
say the Juvenalian are Juvenile.
Perhaps.

But measured by The Black Plague
the population reduction is not up to standard.

Such an outrage of incompetence
can not be tolerated. Death is needed.

In such circumstance
one would not oppose
a convening of an
ad hoc Criminal Tribunal
for “The Mechanism”
at the United Nations
(a simple firing not
being sufficient), and

needling,
a hypodermic firing squad
already appointed and
waiting in the wings of a bat,

let Swiftian justice call for
swift execution.

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez in the Hague (Draft 0)

Anthony Faustti is an anti-hero
for his masterful expositions
on gain-of-function obfuscation

The pleas.
Oh “Context, context,” in Tony III:
“My Kingdom for a bat out of hell…”

Three million dead by gain-of-function
is a modest amount, helps with over population.

Plagues are normal
a beneficial culling of mostly non-scientists,
often happens in a people’s paradise
for the benefit of the Swiftian gullible
who know the poor, frail and old who are
tired in their malaise, and expendable

Faustti, Collards, and Sheez
say the Juvenalian are Juvenile.
Perhaps.

But measured by The Black Plague
the population reduction is not up to standard.

Such an outrage of incompetence
can not be tolerated. Death is needed.

In such circumstance
one would not oppose
a convening of an
ad hoc Criminal Tribunal
for “The Mechanism”
at the United Nations
(a simple firing not
being sufficient), and

needling,
a hypodermic firing squad
already appointed and
waiting in the wings of a bat,

let Swiftian justice call for
swift execution.

The Secret Messages from Faustti (Draft 0)

Dear Colleague,
Congratulations on
your performance in
Die Fledermaus

Remember, for prestige, if
you have mice in the kitchen,
bacon lettuce and tomato with lung
is best for gaining weight, and
cook-up with fur in and cleavage out.

Good news at the world market:
I’ve seen humanized mice
on sale at a good price

But before working
it’s recommended that you
have a hearty breakfast of
Coratella di Abbacchio Con Carciofi

You must try the latest
Bone marrow–liver–thymic
with lung, but since it’s
tedious work it helps
to play music in the background like
“Ode to Sibilo Caratatteristico*.
And remember the song
from The King, Bat Lady, And I :
“…whenever I feel aghast,
I whistle a cheerful tune…”
Music is infectious, but
the dance of knowledge
must go on. Good luck
and ‘break a leg’.

After Sino- Bio-warfare 2, Jane’s Daughter Goes to School

[Now that it’s been established that Wuhan is the center of bio-weapons technology(by another name) implicitly supervised by the government, ‘accidental’ germ warfare can be said to have occurred. See:
The origin of COVID: Did people or nature open Pandora’s box at Wuhan? By Nicholas Wade | May 5, 2021]

Marks And Angles
    by 道格拉斯·吉尔伯特

An old word on a path
of a thousand miles
just a saying, hurrah

uh damn, just saying a journey
begins with a single faux pas
said Laozi
not Confucius
ha

a word of confusion
a two-step to completion
an old word in subversion —
it takes a contaminated bat,
and a virus to conquer.
Tick-tock.

China had a plan
and knew fanfares:
peace on the road
to be woven,
friendships for
fair weather, a shrewd
bounty before a storm,

a word in malice
a step,
Jane’s tale
was to fail
in bans pretty soon.

The Wuhan plague
brought chaos, and then

when all the local stores failed
the aristocrats pro temp bought them
and Jane’s requiem began to play, hey

In a word
Jane had gone batty
over the Summer:

older daughter home,
younger daughter beaten
dead by the gangs, and

she had been annoyed by
the constant chants on the speakers
of the Chinese language lessons
mandatory to earn guanxi
as in Nineteen Eighty-Four

But she had enjoyed the fantasy
that fall would be glorious, for
the eldest jumped for joy
when accepted to
a tuition-free school
as good as Harvard, a
part of the Red Ivy League, funded by
a Confucius Friendship Society

Pandora’s virus box
had bats in it for Jane.

Her daughter indulged her
by sending hand-written messages
by snail-mail

It was lonely, and
all of Jane’s neighbors
took the trains out to
the re-education camps.

Her daughter’s letters were
incoherent she began to think,
or was it that she was going mad?

A government grant check
came with a flier
asking her to
memorize the manifestos

Pandora’s virus box
had bats in it for Jane.

Her decline was sealed
the day the grocery store
checked her credit score:
The princeling who owned it
refused to serve her because
she didn’t have enough caution
in social credits for conformity:
a black mark for twice not
wearing a red mask and
not passing her basic
Chinese language test.

All the stores had been
taken over by the princelings
after the coup d’etat, so
Jane had to walk far away
for Amerigo Supermarkets.

Walking was a complicated fate:
she had to hang with
the ‘hood committee
to negotiate with the gangs
just for a safe passage.
(The citizen’s police
had no guns anymore)

Her daughter indulged her
with an incoherent letter,
left off the “love” valediction —
no closing remarks, but
just odd disjointed slogans:
“repentance and confession,”
“remedial Mandarin,”
“Help Mom,” and
“Truly Transform”

The gangs received
new Chicago weapons,
joined the mask militia
or went back to the well

protestors
burned the Constitution
in a sunrise red fire
by the dawn’s early light

Proudly, great progress
was hailed without bullets
on the conveyance belt
and hellion roadway

John, offering hope, was long gone.
Pandora’s virus well
had bats in it for Jane.

Well, sitting at a window
Jane without living water
a heart attack

Love China,
or well